


Were you ever going to tell me?

by everchanginginks



Series: Whispers, roars and rumors [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everchanginginks/pseuds/everchanginginks
Summary: It's been over a year since Derek's secret was outed. This time it's Stiles' secret that spreads across Hogwarts.(Rated T because jokes about bestiality.)





	Were you ever going to tell me?

**Author's Note:**

> I received the prompt _"Were you ever going to tell me?"_ and a request to write a sequel to _I don't care what they say, it doesn't mean shit_ , so here it is!

It starts out small. Murmured words in dark corners, eager with excitement but careful all the same as secrets that are not yours to tell often are. It escalates to curious glances and not so furtive stares, giggles and whispers behind hands that do next to nothing to hide the malicious intent in what is shared. It’s been over a year since Derek was the center of attention of the Hogwarts rumor mill and he can with certainty say that he has not missed it at all.

 _Stilinski has always been weird,_ someone whispers as Derek walks past, shoulders drawn up to his ears when he feels their eyes on him. _I’m really not surprised that he’s into bestiality._ Someone else laughs, startled and shocked at the nerve of their friend, but amused all the same. Derek can feel his hackles rising, anger settling hot and heavy in his stomach. _Can you imagine being in love with a monster? He must have been dropped on his head as a child._ Derek would have wolfed out if he didn’t know that it would sent him straight to the headmaster’s office, which he didn’t have time for. He needed to find Stiles. 

It’s mid-May, the grass is green and the sun is warm, but there’s no Stiles at their usual hideout. Not even at their spare hideout, the one behind the Owlery. There’s no trace of him, not even a whiff of his scent in any of the spaces they usually frequent. It can only mean that Stiles is not only avoiding _everyone,_ but Derek too. The realisation brings with it a complicated mix of emotions. Worry, for Stiles. Anger, for all of those idiots spreading rumors. Disappointment, considering that Stiles didn’t feel like he could seek Derek out. Then there’s also this tiny, miniscule seed of something akin to hope.

Hope, because if there was no truth to the rumors, Stiles would laugh it away. It’s what Derek had expected, really, that Stiles would find it hilarious. Stiles, crushing on Derek? Ridiculous. But now Stiles is nowhere to be found. That must mean something, right?

Derek feels as if he has scoured the entire grounds and is officially forty minutes late to Arithmancy when he reaches the Quidditch pitch. It’s a last resort, but his ears perk up at the sound of a ball furiously connecting with a bat. Stiles’ scent reaches him mere seconds after, a vague trail of it leading him onto the pitch. Figures that Stiles would hide out in the last place Derek would look.

There’s a frenetic energy about Stiles, tiny fractured pieces of it escaping through the bat held in his hands everytime it hits the vicious Bludger he must have freed from the trunk by his feet. It keeps coming back after every hit, over and over again, and Derek can practically taste Stiles’ mounting frustration on his tongue. He has a feeling that Stiles came here to work off some frustration, not gain it, but it doesn’t seem to be working the way he wants. A particularly violent throw of the bat sends the Bludger way off to the side and upon its return, it seems to notice Derek instead, since it veers off course and heads straight for him. Stiles turns, but Derek is too busy catching the Bludger to see Stiles’ reaction. The Bludger trashes wildly in his hands, but it’s little to no match for Derek’s werewolf strength. When he looks up again, Stiles is rolling his eyes.

“Show off,” he mutters and it makes Derek smile, despite Stiles’ tone being slightly off.

Derek walks over to wrestle the Bludger back into the trunk. Stiles, now without anything to distract him, focuses entirely on twirling his bat as Derek rises back to his feet.

“You’re late to Arithmancy,” Stiles says.

Derek shrugs.

“I’m pretty sure that Quidditch practice isn’t on your schedule right now either,” he replies.

“Fair.”

There’s a sheen of sweat on Stiles’ neck, the tips of his hair wet with it and clinging to his skin. His cheeks are a splotchy red, his breath heavy and Derek can hear his jack-rabbiting heart so loud in his ears that it might as well be his own.

They could ignore this, Derek thinks. Maybe. Could pretend like nothing has happened, like they haven’t heard any of the whispers, and continue on as always.

Stiles steals a glance at him, embarrassed and shy, and Derek thinks maybe, but also maybe not. Because Stiles holds himself tight and tense, nearly shaking with the need to move. To bolt, probably. Derek draws a breath and decides not to run.

“Is it true?” He asks.

Stiles looks as if he would like to wrangle himself out of his own skin. Derek can almost see the lies twisting and turning in Stiles’ head, at war with the truth and he holds his breath waiting for Stiles to reply.

“I _suppose,”_ he eventually says, looking anywhere but at Derek.

Derek tamps down on the flurry of butterflies awakening in his belly.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Stiles runs a hand over his face, shrugs, begins to shake his head and then stops half a second later.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Probably not? Like, you’re my friend. I didn’t want to mess it up.” Stiles leaves no room for Derek to collect his thoughts and reply, the words spilling out quickly now. “I’m not saying that it’s messed up, even though it kind of is, but I mean, it’s okay, I can pretend like nothing-”

“Stiles,” Derek tries, but Stiles barrels on undeterred.

“I’m not gonna, you know, throw myself at you, I somehow have _not_ done that for three years and it’s worked out _great,_ okay, and I-”

“I LIKE YOU TOO!”

It comes out louder than Derek expected. At least it manages to shut Stiles up, who blinks at him with owlishly large eyes and parted lips. The bat in his hand is finally still.

“What?”

“I like you too. Like more than friends. I thought you knew.”

“You thought I-” Stiles murmurs breathlessly. “How could I POSSIBLY know?”

Derek really should have been ready for that outburst, but somehow he wasn’t. As usual, his subconscious takes the bait, to match Stiles.

“I was really obvious?”

“Uh, _no?”_

“Stiles, I brought you to _Madam Puddifoot’s on Valentine’s Day.”_

Stiles gapes incredulously at him before throwing his hands up in the air, like Derek somehow is the impossible one in this scenario.

“I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE! Just two single bros hanging out, mocking a capitalistic sham holiday, you could have told me straight out-”

“How was I supposed to know that you’re an idiot?!”

Stiles throws the bat at his head. For real. It’s pure reflex that makes Derek duck and thus saves him from a mild concussion. Derek stares at him. Stiles stares back, wide-eyed.

“Did you just…?” Derek starts.

“Now hang on a minute-”

Stiles must see something in Derek’s eyes, because he bolts straight across the pitch. He’s surprisingly fast, even more so since landing himself a position on the Quidditch team a year ago, but he’s still no match for Derek’s werewolf speed. Stiles feigns a change of direction, only Derek sees it coming a mile away and tackles into him, sending them both crashing to the ground in a flurry of tangled limbs. They grapple for the upper hand and Stiles tries more than once to knee him in the balls before Derek cheats with a little extra strength to pin him to the grass.

“You threw a bat at me, you maniac!” He exclaims, eyes roaming over Stiles’ heaving chest and sparkling eyes, the smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You deserved it, asshole!”

Derek shakes his head.

“I don’t even know why I like you,” he says, loosening his grip on Stiles’ wrists to sit up a bit straighter on top of him.

Stiles’ smile widens. Derek has to bite his lip not to match it with one of his own. He’s pretty sure he’s failing anyway.

“But you do,” Stiles states smugly, as if the thought has finally settled in that overactive brain of his.

“I do,” Derek confirms.

Stiles chooses that moment to pull Derek down by the front of his shirt and they narrowly escape smacking their heads together when Derek catches himself with his arms on either side of Stiles’ face.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek murmurs, close enough for the tip of his nose to brush against Stiles’.

“Shut up,” Stiles replies and kisses him.

The butterflies wake anew, a wave of warmth washing over Derek and leaving his skin hot to the touch. Stiles must feel it burn when he touches Derek’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, his lips a gentle, dry press against Derek’s. It’s chaste, but leaves them both as breathless as their wrestling match.

“I just,” Stiles starts as he pulls back a fraction, his voice low and hoarse and Derek clings to it, clings to him, because _finally._ “I just want to state for the record that I’ve never entertained the idea of bestiality.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to truly register and then Derek groans.

“Like, I’ve _never_ jerked off to the thought of those wicked sideburns of yours. Promise.”

 _“Merlin,”_ Derek swears because _why the fuck does he like this idiot._ He tries half-heartedly to disentangle himself, but Stiles only laughs and grabs at him, pulls him back in.

“No no no, sorry, don’t go, I swear I’m gonna shut up now!”

“You swear? You better,” Derek replies and flashes his eyes, only because he knows that it will widen Stiles’ smile.

“I swear. Now kiss me.”

Derek follows orders.


End file.
